


Remembrance

by R_squared



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Are we sure giving drugs to super soldiers is a good idea?, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Transfer, S.H.I.E.L.D Secrets, Sacrifice, Trust, hypnotherapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:44:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_squared/pseuds/R_squared
Summary: Steve will never give up hope that they can recover Buckys memories after the Hydra programming has been stripped away.Even when everything is against him, he will find a way to get him back.No matter the cost.





	Remembrance

The room was quiet, Steve watched through the one way glass as Natasha sat neatly, smoothly questioning the man in front of her, switching between english and russian without warning.  
Steves eyes were set like steel on the solid, yet frail frame sat on the opposite side of the room. His hair fell unceremoniously around his face, wide shoulders slouching over, pulled down by some invisible weight, he was exhausted. The pale light flickered across his eyes whenever he bothered to look up, showing exactly how hollow they were, scared and confused but not much else.

“It should be me in there.” Steve protested.

“You can’t be objective Captain.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Exactly.” Fury responded, shooting an almost sympathetic glance his way. “We need to make sure he’s no longer under Hydras programming. Romanoff is, experienced. I trust her.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Do you?” 

Steve had nothing to say to that. When they first recovered Bucky he had completely forgotten to check how much the program was still in control, too lost in having found his best friend. He could have compromised the entire team in those initial encounters but he didn’t care. 

It had been two years and Fury was right, he was far too close to be objective.

The interrogation went on for what felt like a lifetime, Steve hardly moved, ignoring the occasional looks he could feel Fury was sneaking his way.  
When Natasha finally exited the room Steve was waiting for her, poised by the door with more than just a few questions of his own ready to burst from his lips.

“Before you start.” She interrupted, pushing Steve gently back as she closed the door behind her. “I am confident he is no longer under Hydras control. Though there is still a chance it could be reinitiated if they were to find him. But-..” She hesitated, “I’m sorry Steve.”

“What Natasha? What is it?” He hurried, feeling the acid build in his stomach.

“His memories of being the Winter Soldier are definitely intact.. But he has no memory of life before. Of who he was. Of you.” Her head dropped as Steve shoved her aside, the door slammed back under his touch with such force it was a surprise it didn’t snap from the hinges completely.

“Bucky.” His lips curled around the word with ease. It was so simple but it was the only thing left in this world that felt familiar, felt like home.  
Buckys eyes shot up then, gluing themselves to Steve, there was still fear there but in their depths a question that couldn’t be answered hid behind the blank, worn expression. 

“You keep calling me that..” His voice was rough but it still sounded like music in Steves ears.

“It’s your name.”

Bucky shook his head meekly, disbelieving. “I went to the museum.” He started again as Steve rigidly took the seat across from him. “I saw you there.. And I saw-..” 

“Yeah Buck.”

“I saw..” His eyes dropped away, his tongue darting out nervously across his bottom lip. “Am I-..” He paused, looking back up to Steve. “ **Was** I-, James?”

“You still are. Somewhere, you still are.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“I don’t care.” Steve snapped, his fists crashing into the metal table between them. His breath hitching as he yelled unexpectedly. “I’m going to get you back. I promise.”

Bucky didn’t flinch at Steves outburst, his head nodding along in agreeance. “I know. I just, don’t know how I know.”

“That’s a start.” Steve added, making his way around the table and quickly breaking the handcuffs away that were uselessly clamped around Buckys thick wrists.

After he was cleared Steve showed him to his new accommodation at Stark Tower intending to give him as much space as he needed to settle in. He had trailed behind Steve the whole way from the interrogation room, shuffling along like a dejected animal. He looked out of place in the large room, his eyes darted around, staring at the walls as if they were covered in barbed wire instead of art deco. Steves chest heaved at the sight of his best friend still clearly being unsure if this was just another elaborate Hydra ruse before they took him back to the chair. He shuddered away the thought of it.

“You’re safe here.” He tried to comfort, receiving nothing but a startled nod in return. “And you’re not a prisoner.” He swayed the door to his room back and forth. “It only locks if you want it to.” He forced an encouraging smile, turning to head back out through the door, as much as he didn’t want to. 

The others had argued with him about that choice. They had wanted to keep Bucky on lockdown until they knew more, until he could be trusted but there was no way in hell that, after everything, Steve would allow Bucky to be in another locked cell, ever. 

“Thank you.” The choked off words stopped Steve in his tracks but he didn’t turn. He didn’t want to make Bucky feel any more vulnerable than the words already had.

“Always Buck.” He cleared his throat, heavy emotions clawing their way into his voice. “Get some rest, I’ll check in on you later.”

Steve pounded his way down the corridors towards his own quarters, his mind still racing as he struggled to steele his emotions. His room laid out quiet and neat in front of him, he hadn’t bothered to clutter the space with material items, he didn’t see the point.  
Steve slid down next to the bed, reaching under to where he knew it would be.  
He dragged the tattered shoe box out onto the bed, staring down at it mindfully. It had been years since he had packed this box away and now coming face to face with it again he found himself more than a little nervous.  
His hand trembled as he lifted the lid, gently laying it to the side. The box was packed to brim with organised kaos, mementos from his life lost in a different age.  
The photo he picked from the top of the box was old and worn, the edges curling and dissolving around the fuzzy black and white image. Steve had to look away, had to steady himself, but couldn’t deny the weight of the image in his hands.

Steves hand was clasped to Buckys shoulder, his head thrown back in laughter. Buckys eyes matched the smile stretched across his lips, revealing his gleaming teeth. He looked so at peace, so happy as he watched Steve, nothing else around them mattered in that photo, in that time. It had just been them. 

Steves finger glanced across the image, remembering the feeling, the unspoken words between them, the way Buckys hair would blow out of place, the light touch of his hand as they bumped together when they walked, the smell of cigarettes and coffee when he walked into their apartment, the sound of his laughter, he remembered everything.. And Bucky remembered nothing.

The box was everything he had from before, if anything was going to trigger Buckys memory, he was sure he’d find it in here. Soon the bed was covered in neat rows of categorized memories as Steve narrowed down the best items. He spent the next few hours rummaging through everything, planning how to best approach the situation and by the time he glanced over to the clock, it was already well into the early hours of the morning.  
He sighed, transferring his chosen items into a new box and returning the remainder back under the bed for a later date. There was no point checking in on Bucky now, he deserved to rest and wake when he was ready. Steve curled into bed knowing full well there was little hope he would manage to get any sleep, not with the man he lost just down the hall.

The smell of steaming coffee filled the corridors the next morning as Steve made his way, box in hand, down to Buckys room. He was more than a little anxious as he pushed open the door, not entirely convinced that Bucky would even still be there.

“Hey Bucky..” He called quietly as the door opened.

The scramble he heard had him swinging the door back more urgently, unsure of exactly what the hell was going on inside.  
He found Bucky, tensed a few feet from the door, feet anchored in a fighting position with his fists already raised.

“Woah, hey it’s okay.” His hands flew up, outstretching the tray of coffee calmly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I wasn’t startled.” Bucky answered defensively.

“Sure. Of course not.” Steve retorted with a sarcastic smirk. Buckys lips twitched so quickly that Steve wasn’t sure it was actually there but maybe, just maybe, he saw the hint of a smile.

He let his eyes scan the room quickly, placing the coffee down on the small study desk. The room looked practically undisturbed, the door leading to the bathroom was shut a little further than Steve recalled but everything else was still in place. Buckys backpack sat unmoved on a chair by the end of the pristinely made bed, the sheets were untouched, not so much as a wrinkle to show it had been laid on. There was a rolled up jacket on the floor by Buckys feet and the realisation that Bucky must have chosen to sleep on the floor weighed heavy on him. He remembered what it was like when he first returned from war, the feeling of a soft bed almost engulfing you whole, it was impossible to sleep like that at first but he adjusted, given time away from the fight. The difference was, Bucky had never stopped fighting.

He inhaled sharply, trying not to draw unnecessary attention to it, Bucky had already clearly noticed and was snatching up the jacket when Steve looked away.

“I bought some coffee from a cart on the street, figured you probably wouldn’t enjoy the fancy stuff Stark keeps here.” Bucky accepted the gesture kindly, slipping into a seat opposite Steve, warily assessing the box still in his hands. “Look I thought, if you’re feeling up to it. Maybe I could show you a few things from the past, see if they bring anything back?” Buckys anxious eyes flicked between the box and the coffee in his hands. “Hey,” Steve called reassuringly. “If not then we can just have coffee.”

“Is that what you call this?” Bucky remarked, sipping at the bitter liquid.

“Here.” Steve chuckled, passing the cream across the table.

The box balanced gingerly on Steves knee as he began sorting through the photos. He started with the most recent ones, from their army days, images that Bucky was already aware of from his trip to the museum, that seemed like the most appropriate place to start. Bucky gently picked up the fragile pictures, eyes dancing over the dirty faces, assessing the content of each before quietly placing them back down. There was nothing on his face as he went through the images but a twinge of sadness, softening around the edges of his features. Steve wasn’t ready to give up, he never would be, this was just a start, they just needed time.

“It’s okay if you don’t recognise these.” He reassured.

The pause in Buckys assessment felt vast, it engulfed the room in a tragic sense of defeat, despite Steves best intentions. His eyes were apologetic, refusing to connect.  
He reached across the table picking up a rectangular metal tin. He twisted the simple, silver metal container, tracing his fingers along the sharp, wonky edges. The lid flipped open stiffly, it probably hadn’t been opened in decades, it wasn’t much but Bucky studied it closer than anything else he’d looked at so far.

“You used to smoke,” Steve explained shyly “Were always complaining your smokes got crumpled in those cardboard boxes.” Buckys didn’t even try to tear his eyes away from the apparently fascinating cigarette tin. “I uh.. I made that for you, before you went away.” The rough cut of an engraving scrapped under his finger, worn away and unreadable. Steve could feel his skin began to blotch a very obvious shade of red at the confession.

It was silent for a moment, Buckys eyes staring so intensely that Steve wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t trying to burn a hole straight through the tin. When he finally broke his hand moved quickly to open the left side of his jacket, miming placing the tin inside a non existent pocket.

“It goes here.” His voice was weak and searching, his eyes pleading with Steve for some kind of clarity.

“Yeah Buck! That’s right, that’s where you kept them. Over your heart.” He barely tried to veil his enthusiasm, grinning from ear to ear as he spoke.

He remembered. It wasn’t much but it was sure as hell a start.  
Bucky didn’t smile back but there was something new flickering in his eyes.

Hope.

The first few days went on much the same way, Bucky started responding to the name that was still so foreign to him, his muscles relaxing when Steve would call out to him instead of tensing away from the sound. He sat politely through the photos and the questions, his head shaking slowly through most of their sessions, his disappointment more on Steves behalf than for himself.

“I want to remember.” He would mutter as they walked back through the halls at the end of the day. “I just, I don’t believe that guy.. Could be me.” He waved off the thought when Steve clapped his hand over the thick line of his shoulder.

“Give it time Buck, we’ll get there.” Steves smile never wavered. Sure that they would find something eventually.

The items Steve pulled from the box grew more intimate and embarrassing as the sessions went on, ticket stubs from Coney Island, an old menu from their favourite diner, a cufflink Bucky had made for Steve from old twisted metal, a plastic bead he’d stolen from his sister's jewelry tin glued on top, there was even a popcorn box with a note faded on the side in Buckys scratchy handwriting. For the first time in years Steve felt small again, baring his soul like this. Back in their day he would never have dreamt of admitting to Bucky he kept some of these things but he was grasping for something, anything to help him remember. He would worry about the repercussions later.  
Natasha would give him a light, knowing wink each morning, clearly amused by some of the more obscure items. She didn’t question the pink tinge that flared his cheeks at her subtle teasing though which was immensely appreciated. _She means well_ , he would remind himself as he tried to shove the heat down, watching Bucky absently assess the items on the table. Sometimes he picked things up to twist and turn it between his fingers. His eyes showed no signs of recognition in those moments but somehow his body seemed to know the items. It was like watching a dog pawing at an eternally shut door, sure that if they just kept pawing that there would be something on the other side.

“I think maybe it’s time we try something different.” Natasha spoke up for the first time after another agonisingly fruitless session.

“What do you mean?” Steve turned to her, the deep bags under his eyes etched into place, the nights of pacing the halls instead of sleeping clearly taking their toll. 

“His memories clearly aren’t easily accessible to him. I think maybe we should try dig a little deeper.”

“No Natash-.” Steve didn’t know what she was implying but he could already sense he didn’t like it.

“Not like that dumbass. I’m talking about hypnotherapy.”

“Oh.”

She rolled her eyes turning to address Bucky, “If that would be okay with you?”

Steve spun back around just in time to see Buckys dissociated nod.

“You do have a choice Bucky, you can say no.” Steve tried, desperate to ensure Bucky didn’t feel forced.  
His knuckles tensed around the edge of the table briefly, warping under his metal fist.

“Will it hurt?”

“No, no of course not and we can stop anytime.” Natasha explained.

His nod was a little more thoughtful this time as he considered his options. “Will, you be there?” 

Steve lips twitched up at the question. “I’d like to be, if that’s what you want.”

“Yes.” It was a simple response but Steves chest felt set to burst all the same.

“Alright then, you boys go get something to eat and I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.”

They ate at the bench in relative silence, Bucky was far from the conversationalist he used to be but it was comfortable at least, the sharp, suspicious edges of his company had begun to ease. His shoulders slouched a little as he sat, fingers lightly unfurled on the tabletop, his eyes taking in the subtleties of his surroundings instead of focusing on Steves every movement like he might strike at any moment. He still tensed when someone new entered the room but Steve was patient and would calmly introduce them until Bucky began to relax again. Steve wanted to hold onto those moments, when Bucky was most at ease but all too soon it was time to get moving again.

Steve listened intently as the metal gears of Buckys arm shifted nervously beside him as they stepped out of the elevator. “Anytime you want to stop..”

“I know.. Thank you..” 

Steve rasped on the open door, peering inside before Bucky could round the corner. The room was simple enough, brown and beige tones colouring the furniture and walls, a tall plant rested in the corner next to a large wooden desk that faced the centre of the room. Natasha was perched neatly on a square armchair, gesturing to the long, reclined lounge in front of her as the men entered.

“Tony has a shrinks room?” Steve questioned.

“Does that surprise you?” She replied nonchalantly.

“This is uh..” Bucky started, not yet fully committing to entering the room.

“If this isn’t okay..”

“No, no. I was gonna say.. Better.”

“What were you expecting?” Natashas tone was gentle as she questioned.

Bucky slowly lifted his hand, twisting and gliding the metal plates over one and other as he stared. “Just.. Use to things being different.” He shook his head abruptly at the silence that followed, pushing himself forward into the room and sitting stiffly in the chair.  
His eyes grew wide as he shifted to face Natasha, his sudden change had Steve following his line of sight in an instant. He frowned disappointedly at the silver tray perched on the table off to Natashas side.

“What is that Nat?!” 

The large needle perched on the tray glinted in the unnatural light, a thick milky liquid clinging to the inside of the syringe.

“Propofol. It’s an anaesthetic agent.” Steve opened his mouth but was cut off before he had the chance to fly off the handle. “Hypnotherapy can help unlock memories trapped deep in someone's psyche and I’m sorry Captain, Sergeant, but we still don’t know what we might be digging at. It’s merely a precaution if things.. Don’t go to plan. He would burn it off in a minutes I promise.” Her voice was sterner now, it set Steve back a step, feeling the need to fall back in line.

“Smart.” Bucky responded flatly. “Let’s do this.” 

Steve settled in next to him, reassuring him again that they could stop anytime.  
Natasha took him through a few breathing exercises, slowly getting him to relax his mind as much as his body. It wasn’t easy at first, Bucky continued to twitch himself back to reality, his muscles tightening against the vulnerable state. Eventually though he stilled, his face and limbs falling limp and peaceful, he almost looked like he was sleeping. It felt strange, seeing him like this after all this time, for the first time since he came back he just looked like, Bucky. No Hydra, no Winter Soldier, just Bucky. Passed out on the couch while the kettle whistled on the stove, completely exhausted after another long night spent nursing Steve through another bad stretch of bronchitis.  
He smiled and dropped his head, he couldn't help but feel like he was intruding when Bucky began to answer her questions. _He wants me here._ He calmed himself, shifting his attention to the notes Natasha had begun to jot down.  
They didn’t achieve much for a while, Bucky was more open than when he was awake, expressing some thoughts and emotions he had while out of the programming but he didn’t recall anything from before. His memory from when the program was completely in control seemed disjointed as well.

“Воспоминания - это слабость”

“Even those of your missions?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?” Steve spoke for the first time, alarmed by Buckys sudden shift of dialect.

“Memories are a weakness, I don’t think Hydra wanted him to be able to remember anything but what was immediately in front of him.”

“Yes. After each mission report, the memories are taken. Воспоминания - это слабость” Bucky responded quietly.

“Bucky, do you remember the train?”

“Nat, don’t.” Steve protested.

“I need to establish where they stripped him from. Where Bucky ended and the Winter Soldier began, we have to know where the wall started if we ever want to get around it.” She reprimanded.

“No.” Buckys head shook softly but his face twitched around the word.

“The train, Sergeant.” She pushed, picking up on his involuntary response.

“I woke up.. I wasn’t meant to wake up.” His flesh hand clasped around the edge of the lounge frame, knuckles slowly turning white. “It was cold outside and then it got colder when we got.. There.”

Steve could feel tears stinging the back of his eyes as he watched Buckys face begin to distort into something beyond pained as he spoke. Natasha was right, they had to know more about the block Hydra had placed in his head but that didn’t make it any easier.

“What happened when you got there? What did they do?”

Bucky writhed against the fabric, lips twitching into a scowl, tiny beads of sweat popping out on his forehead, sticking his hair to his skin wherever it touched.

“They killed Bucky.” 

The silence was brief but it was louder than a jet plane taking flight and it shook the room to its core. A single tear rolled down the side of his face and then everything was moving too fast to register. The strangled snarl that tore from Buckys chest had both Steve and Natasha on their feet in an instant. Buckys hands tore through the frame of the lounge, crushing the wood beneath him like it was nothing. He clutched at his head, screaming as his body fell through to the floor, his breath ragged and pained.

“Bucky, it’s okay, you need to come back to us now.” Natasha tried, unsuccessfully to pull him back from whatever memory they had accidentally unlocked.

His eyes were terrified, glued to her as he rose, launching himself from the floor towards her, metal arm outstretched and poised to lock around her throat. Steve managed the shove between them, slamming into Buckys chest and tossing him into the wall across the room just in time. Bucky was coming back towards him in an instant, feral sounds still raging from his pursed lips.

“Bucky stop!” Steve plead when he had him pinned to the wall again. He struggled against him, rabid to be released and continue his attack. “This isn’t you, this isn’t- Natasha!” He screamed, trying to centre himself as his fingers sunk into Buckys arms, only barely managing to hold him in place.

Natasha sunk the needle into Buckys thigh with ease and within seconds Steve could feel his muscles loosening, the struggle subsided and he could hear Natashas voice somewhere far off in the distance, talking him out of the trance. He collapsed within a minute, draping across Steves body, unable to support his own weight under the sedation. He hitched an arm around Buckys waist without another word and pulled him close, heading for the exit.

By the time they made it back to Buckys room he was almost able to walk on his own again. He rubbed groggily at his head as Steve lowered him to sit on the bed.

“What happened?”

“I think we pushed too hard, you remembered something.. Unpleasant.” For lack of a better word.

“From before?”

Steve shook his head, “From during.”

“Right, of course.”

“That doesn’t surprise you.”

“No, I.. I think those are memories I blocked on my own, not ones that Hydra took.. They want you to remember the pain. It keeps you scared, keeps yo-” That pained look was starting to creep back along the edge of his expression.

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“Thanks.” He shuddered absently. “I didn’t.. I didn’t hurt anyone?” He was trying to piece together the last few hours, still dizzy from the trance state.

“We’ve had worse.” Steve joked but the shame that flashed across Buckys face was undeniable. “Maybe I should let you get some rest.” He offered, quickly retreating to the edge of the room.

“Hey-” Bucky called after him urgently. Steve turned, silently waiting for Bucky to sort through his thoughts at his own pace. “You, uh.. Would you mind staying?” He ducked his head, Steve tried to ignore the embarrassed flush he was clearly trying to hide. He shook himself off, he wanted to ease Buckys discomfort and standing there like a deer in the headlights wasn’t helping that plight.

“You know, I use to be the one asking you that.” He tried to keep his voice level, placing himself down on the space Bucky had made on the bed, swinging his legs up onto the mattress beside him.

Bucky didn’t say anything more but he allowed himself to smile gratefully over at Steve, it was small but unmistakable. Steve smiled back just as Bucky rolled away to face the wall, curling in on himself and settling after a few uncomfortable minutes against the plush blanket. Steve didn’t move, just allowed his breathing to steady, anchoring himself in the moment as the safety beacon Bucky obviously needed. He watched as Buckys back rose and fell with his breath, eventually matching Steves own breaths, the rhythm slowly rocking him to unconsciousness. 

A few days later Tony led them to another level Steve had never been to and just when he thought he’d seen everything, there was the sensory deprivation tank room. He really needed to stop being surprised by the things they had tucked way in this tower.

He had offered Bucky a tablet as he got into the tank, a hallucinogenic designed to stimulate the limbic system in the brain apparently. Tony had gone off explaining the complicated process of genetically modifying the.. Something, Steve had lost track very quickly.

“That’s why you’re here tough guy.” Was the only explanation he was given when he raised concerns about giving hallucinogens to a previously brainwashed russian super soldier. He’d rolled his eyes as Bucky swallowed the tablet, locking him into the tank a few moments later.

They had waited for half an hour before talking to Bucky over the inbuilt speaker.

“How you going in there?” Steve asked.

“I’m kinda bored.” Steve chuckled at Tonys offended expression.

“I gave you **drugs** and you’re **bored**?” 

“I think you might have been ripped off Stark.” _Was that a joke?_ Steve brain was swimming as he laughed heartedly for the first time in weeks. _He just made a joke._

“Right, get him out, he needs a higher dose.” Tony stalked off frustratedly.

After another few hours of testing and enough hallucinogens to “supply the local crack den for a hundred years” according to Tony, they called it a night.

If nothing else, today had been the first time Bucky had started to act like a person, not a machine who must only speak when ordered too. Even if he wasn’t remembering yet, he was at least taking steps towards a real life again. He had even joined in the conversation at dinner, relaxing around a larger group of people for the first time, Steve even spotted him chuckling down at his plate when Natasha and Tony started bickering playfully.

Steve should have been feeling relieved that night, should have slept like a baby with the knowledge that Bucky was starting to feel positive emotions again. Instead he strapped his hands and stormed down to the gym a little after midnight, pacing trenches in the floor in between setting up each new punching bag after he inevitably destroyed them, one after the other.

_It’s not enough._

His fists pummeled the bag.

_We have to do more._

Sand seeped down onto the floor.

_There’s got to be a way._

The leather was stained from his bloodied knuckles.

_I have to get him back._

The chain moaned against the ferocious speed of his hits.

_All of him._

With one final punch the bag crashed across the room, slamming into the opposite wall by the door. When his breathing began to settle he blinked quickly to clear his vision, blurred from what he was telling himself was sweat, even though he hadn’t sweated from physical exertion in over seventy years.  
When his eyes cleared they locked on the doorway by the deflated bag. The thick silhouette didn’t move at first, just watched as Steve unwrapped the bloodied material from his fists. He chucked the ruined wrap to the side, biting his lip nervously when Bucky got close enough to see the damage he’d caused himself.

“It’ll heal.” He tried to pull his hands to his side, breaking Buckys line of view but he wasn’t quick enough. Bucky grabbed the battered hand, resting it lightly in his own palm, assessing the raw knuckles which were already beginning to heal at the edges.

“You don’t know when to quit huh?” He teased.

“Never did.” Steve tried to ignore the way his heart sped up at the gentle touch, the smooth metal contrasted by the warm, soft flesh working its way down each finger methodically.

“Sit.” Bucky commanded with an exacerbated eye roll. Steve did as he was told, sitting next to him on the bench along the wall, allowing Bucky to check each joint and wipe away the drying blood with a damp cloth.

“Why?” Steve asked suddenly, still confused by his actions.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I just.. Feel like I should.” His eyes searched Steves for a moment before moving back to his work, his hair veiling his face.

“I used to get into fights, before, when I was smaller.” Steve explained involuntarily. “You’d always come find me, tell me off, make a joke and drag me home but…” He let out a shaky, expectant breath. “You always patched me up, said it was your duty. Do you remember that?”

Bucky didn’t look up when he spoke, his hidden expression causing an anxious lump to form in Steve chest. “I get these, feelings..” He struggled around the word, scraping for someway to describe what he was experiencing. “It’s like, I know what I’m meant to do but I just don’t know why.” His eyes were pleading when he dropped Steves hand away, placing the bloodied cloth aside. “I’m trying to remember, I want to remember, I want to remember you.” His words were frantic, desperate. Steve reached out, his body taking over from his mind as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Buckys ear, he moved to cup his hand along his jaw, eyes locked on him when the sharp click of heels on wood shattered between them.

They both pulled away with a jolt, from a distance it probably looked like they’d been electrocuted, their eyes searched the dimly lit space to locate the source of the intrusion.  
Natasha stood across the room, her pressed pale suit jacket and skirt standing out in the darkness.

“Sorry to interrupt boys.” The heels clicked loudly across the room. “Steve, I’ve got something for you, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Yeah sure, we’ll follow you up. What is it?” 

“Sorry Barnes, this one's just for Steve.” She clarified when they both rose from the bench.

“What? No, I’m not going to let you hide things from him.”

“Steve..” She warned.

“If I can be apart of it then so can he.”

“We have his handler. The man who was responsible for wiping him after each mission.”

The words came like a blow to the gut, knocking the wind out of Steve with such force he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to breath again. Bucky dropped back to the bench behind him, eyes feverishly attempting to decrypt some non existent pattern on the floor.

“Bucky maybe..”

“Yeah. I’ll stay here.”

Steve couldn’t look back, he wanted to whisk Bucky up and take him as far away from anyone that ever hurt him, but he couldn’t, not yet. They had more work to do and that meant holding onto every red stained drop of anger than was rising in his veins. He was moving before he had time to process what was happening, powering across the room with Natasha trailing beside him quietly.

“I really am sorry I interrupted.” She apologised sincerely.

“So am I.” He muttered as the door swung shut behind them.

The handler looked like anyone else, mid fifties, worn out scowl, glasses, meek stature. Steve wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting, some horrifically scarred, aggressive beast of a man, someone who looked evil enough to tame his best friend. 

The interrogation was heated and less than conventional, Steve held nothing back determined to drain as much information as possible while making the man suffer in the process.  
When he finally snapped his confession had Steve breaking out in a cold sweat.

“The man you knew is dead Captain!” He spat through the blood that now pooled on his chest. “A weapon cannot contain a soul, that must be peeled away. Take away his programming now and you’ll still find a person underneath but we did not put up a wall to block his old memories we stripped them from his very being!”

“How do I get them back!?” The world was spinning around him, rage pumping through his body, washing everything else away.

“They are, unretrievable.” The choked cackle was quickly silenced by Steves fist snapping against his jaw with enough force to shatter it. He flung the man across the room, following his limp body as it slunk to the floor. The rough material of his shirt bunched between Steves fist as he yanked him back up. His tears had begun to overflow without permission, dropping like tiny breaking waves against his forearm, soaking into his shirt when he shook his head, trying to regain his composure.

“You know I can’t let you kill him Captain.” 

“He deserves it.” He sobbed.

“I know, you’re right but we need his intel.” Natasha had crouched down beside them at some point, her hand softly running down Steves arm.

“And what about when he’s given it all?” His eyes snapped to her, lips pulled back as he snarled out his response through the pain.

“Then we kill him.” She shrugged. Her hand twisted, wrapping around his racing pulse. “Now, give me the gun Steve.”

He looked towards their hands, stunned by her implication and even more so by the heavy metal handgun he didn’t know he currently had pressed against the handlers temple. He pulled away, leaving a faint indent in the man's skin, handing the gun reluctantly over and falling back to sit on the ground with a shudder.

Natasha pressed firmly against his elbow, hoisting him up and leading him from the room, two men in tactical gear took their place, handcuffing the handler who was slowly recovering his consciousness.

“Go settle yourself. We need to call in the team in and let them know what we found out.” She dismissed him when she was confident he could make it back to his room unassisted.

It was early morning when Steve walked into the conference room having spent some time cooling off, it’d taken a few hours for the blotchy skin and puffiness around his eyes to subside but he had managed to get it together in the end.  
Everyone had been called in for this meeting and they all sat patiently around the table awaiting his arrival, everyone except Bucky.

“Good morning Captain.” Nick Fury chimed from the end of the room.

“Has Agent Romanoff given you all the briefing?” He was not in the slightest bit interested in facilitating their small talk today.

“I have.”

“And?” He prompted, pacing back and forth.

“And we have no reason to believe he was lying Cap, I’m sorry but the man you knew is gone.” Tony added as elegantly as an egotistical prick can manage.

“ **Bullshit! He has to be lying!** ” The obscenity mixed with the explosive crack of Steves fists denting the solid wooden table as he thundered out the words was enough to make the room scramble for it’s footing, no one daring to speak. “He remembered.” The words were softer when he spoke again.

“What?” The shock was evident in Furys wavering tone.

“There was this cigarette tin..” He clambered around the memory, clinging onto the hope. “He looked at it and put it in his front pocket, said that’s where it belonged and he was right, that was the pocket he always kept them in. Then last night..” He drifted, his fingers gliding lightly over the back of his own hand, tracing the places where Bucky had tested and cleaned the skin. 

“Steve..” Natasha interrupted, his eyes shot over to her, they were soft and apologetic, not a quality he liked seeing in her, it always meant things were worse than he predicted. “I heard him talking last night, he said he gets _feelings_ about what he does. That’s not remembering, it’s muscle memory. Just like riding a bike, your body still knows how to do it even after your mind has forgotten ever learning.” 

He wanted to deny every word, snap back around and tell her to shove her theory where the sun don’t shine but he couldn’t. Because he knew she was right. It made perfect sense, these were things he did every day, for years, of course they were ingrained in him but that still doesn’t make them a memory of who he was. It was much closer to a survival mechanism, to wipe him of that Hydra would have had to reteach him everything, walking, eating, speaking, it was too unimportant of a detail for them to worry about once they had torn the person away from the body. What real threat was a battered hand or a cigarette tin to the masters of evil.

“So what do we do..” The words were barely a question as he collapsed, defeated, into the nearest chair.

“We’ve had a few ideas.” Fury started.

“You may not like them.” Natasha added.

“You’re kidding right? He’s **definitely** gonna hit at least one of you.” Sams words were joking but his tone was deadly serious. Tony shifted in his seat next to Steve, rolling himself back just a fraction.

“Someone needs to start talking.”

“See, Barnes’ brain is running like a computer. A computer that’s been set up with a certain set of commands and coding.” Tony blabbered. “It is possible that we could, re-write the code, take what’s already there, enter in his old personality as a new syntax and supply some of the memories via proxy.” 

“What?”

“We could reprogram him.” Natasha said bluntly.

“Oh christ, that’s a joke right? He’s just starting to trust us and you want to strap him back in a fry his brain again?!” He gestured wildly in disgust.

“It wouldn’t be like that Steve, we wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Then how would it be?!”

“Like I’ve told you, Agent Romanoff is experienced in this area, she could do it. Itt may be the only way to get your friend back.” Fury piped up.

“With his consent, of course.” Natasha comforted.

“Firstly, I’m not even going to ask why you can do that, I don’t want to know.” He jutted his finger towards his friend accusingly, her eyes quickly darting away in shame. “Secondly, no.”

“That’s it, no discussion?” Tony queried.

“Just count yourself lucky that he didn’t hit you.” Sam added, receiving a sharp glare from Tony.

“Even if you could do it and he agreed. Even if it worked, it would just be another program, it wouldn’t be Bucky. Whoever's left underneath is still a better option than brainwashing him into being some vague representation of the man I use to know.” He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, solemnly contemplating their options. “He deserves better, after everything.”

“Oh for heavens sake man!” Fury blurted exasperatedly and seemingly out of nowhere. “Fine then, there may be one more option.”

“Nick..” She chastised.

“What Natasha? Look at him! You know as well as I do that he’s a broken man without Barnes and I’ve got no use for broken men.”

“I’m still right here y’know.” Steve was bewildered by the sudden change in pace of the conversation.

“As you know S.H.I.E.L.D have been around for a very long time and we’ve seen plenty of agents come and go over the years, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve reiterated.

“Well, in the early days we realised that it was a waste to constantly be throwing away years of intel and training every time an agent retired. We also had to find away to neutralise the threat of retired agents compromising the agency. So,” He continued, taking a sip of a suspiciously scotch like liquid that Tony had handed him. “We developed a technology that allowed us to directly transfer the memories of retiring agents into their replacements. No need for briefings, training time was halved, it really is very efficient.”

“What are you saying Nick..?” Steve questioned cautiously as the pieces slowly fell into place.

“We have the ability to transfer your memories, to Sergeant Barnes, filling the void of where his own memories used to be.”

“Are you serious? Okay, okay then let’s do it.” He felt giddy, butterflies bashing around in his stomach at the thought that he could give Bucky their life back.

“It’s not that simple.” Natasha halted him before he had the chance to run off to set up the procedure himself. “We can’t share your memories with him Steve.. We’d have to take them from you.” 

“Oh” He didn’t fully understand but the weight in Natashas tone had him deflating against his seat.

“With our agents it’s easy, we take their memories from their time within S.H.I.E.L.D and they just go back to who they were beforehand. But with you..”

“Bucky is such an integral part of who you are and your memories of him go back so far.. We’re really not sure if there will be enough of you left to piece back together once that’s taken away.” She interjected, trying to explain the risks in a way that Fury may have failed to.

“But he’d be Bucky again?”

“Yes. It’d be through your eyes but yes.”

“Okay, then I say we do it.”

“Steve, we could lose you.” Natashas tone was edging towards a plea.

“I have to get him back, and I’ve gotta have faith that I’ll come back too. I’ve done it before.” He smiled weakly around the table. “I left him for so long.. He deserves to have who he is back..” His tone begged not to be challenged, he let out a small chuckle after a moment of silence, trying to break the tension. “Besides, he was always the better half anyway.”

It’d taken more than an hour to convince the rest of the team to let him talk to Bucky about the procedure on his own. They had made him promise that he would divulge the full extent of the risks for both parties, even if they all knew he was lying. Bucky couldn’t know, he may not remember Steve but he was still a good person and no good person in their right mind would agree to go through with something this crazy if they knew the risks. 

Steve explained the procedure over lunch, well, he explained what would be involved for Bucky and how important it was that they at least tried. He was hesitant at first, fearful of allowing anyone to mess around in his attic again, more out of concern for those around than his own well being. Steve had slowly talked him into the idea but the decision ultimately had to be Buckys, he didn’t want either of them to feel that he was being at all coerced. If he had ultimately refused then Steve wouldn’t have pushed, he would have just prayed that he came around to the idea eventually. Lucky for him that wasn’t the case and after promising for the third time that he would be right there through the entire experience, Bucky finally agreed.

The lab was sterile and harsh, all pristine white walls and shining metallic benches. There were two beds in the middle of the room, lined with a thin mattress and awful patterned sheets in some attempt to make the entire experience less threatening. There were large, clear visors perched above the head of the beds, a faint blue light flickering along the edges. Steve allowed Bucky to hover by the entrance while he made his way in, talking quietly with the agents setting up the equipment, pretending that he understood anything they said.

Eventually he felt the heavy presence of Bucky entering the room and taking a cautious seat on one of the beds.

“How you feeling Buck?” He gave his shoulder one tight squeeze.

“Okay I guess.” He lied.

“Scared?” 

“Fuck yes.” Bucky huffed.

“Me too but mostly cause I still don’t understand how people can hold a computer on their laps, let alone what any of that is.” He gestured out to the machine above the bed, Bucky chortled briefly, lifting what felt like the weight of a house off Steves shoulder. “They say their going to give us a constant rate infusion sedative so we can’t burn it off until after, just to keep us calm.”

“If you say so.” The sense of what Bucky was really saying was overwhelming. _I trust you._

He gave his shoulder another squeeze, allowing his fingers to ghost gently down his arm as he moved away to allow the agents to prepare him.

Once they were hooked up Steve really couldn’t help but think that they looked like they had walked straight out of a Frankenstein film. Electrodes stuck across their heads and necks with a line running out of both of their arms for the sedative.

Bucky was laying down, his IV line being hooked up to a bag that dangled above him when Steve made his way back over.

“You ready?” He asked, gaining a quick nod in response, he watched his eyes for a moment, locked on his own, scared and trusting and… More. 

He leant down, brushing the hair out of Buckys eyes and placing a heartbreakingly gentle kiss against his forehead. He couldn’t bare to move for the longest time, pressed against Bucky, his hand caressing his hair. When he did finally pull back he heard the shallow intake of breath Bucky let slide past his stoic exterior and almost broke down. He turned away quickly, moving towards his own bed before he lost his nerve entirely but the feeling of a hand grasping around his wrist stopped him.

“Steve.” It was barely a whisper but it was all Steve could hear.

“Yeah pal?” He was back at his bedside in a heartbeat.

“Don’t leave.” His eyes darted Steves face, pleading in his low, husky voice, embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable state.

“Never.”

Buckys eyes fluttered shut against the thick sedative coursing into his system as the large machine whirred to life, moving to cover his head. Buckys hand fell limp as Steve tucked it neatly against his side before shifting over to lay on his own bed. The touch of Buckys skin on his lips still tingled a few minutes later as he began to drift away too. 

The world was blinding when he started blinking back into consciousness, his head still swirling and crashing against itself, splitting pain dancing inside along the inside of his skull.  
When the light began to subside, so did the pain, his mind slowly managing to focus and create the images that were battling for their place in his mind.  
He could remember the harsh cold nights where the radiator would break, the dirty Brooklyn streets, newspaper stuffed into the souls of shoes, a funeral, a large hand clasping and pulling two bodies together, both shaking from tears. He remembered himself through younger eyes, smaller eyes. The images started to settle, snapping together to reform the memory of his life, the memory of a friend. The barrage was uncontrollable but what was more overwhelming was the feeling that he now remembered clear as day, the kindness, the longing, the love.

He could already feel the tears stinging his eyes as he yanked the drip from his arm, woozily staggering to his feet. He had to find him, he had to make sure he was okay, he needed him to know.

He swatted away the agents who tried to corral him back to the safety of his bed, determined not to waste another precious moment.  
The bed shook when he collapsed at its side, knees slamming against the hard ground, his hand meeting flesh on the mattress.

“Steve.” He cried out hurriedly, he looked up expectantly to find him already sitting straight up in response to his loud, jarring entrance. His brow was creased and his jaw tensed, his expression a mixture of alarm and concern, his blonde hair sat askew from where he had laid on it. He didn’t flinch as Bucky slunk his fingers around his palm suddenly, he barely reacted at all. “Steve, I remember. I remember all of it.” 

The blank stare hollowed out the world around them.

“Who the hell is Steve?”

Buckys tears overflowed and crashed against the sheet unapologetically. His face distorted to let out a strangled sob as the transferred memory of Steves conversation in the conference room abruptly snapped into focus in his mind.


End file.
